


Motet

by BrighteyedJill



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst, Calling your partner out on their bullshit, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Happy Ending, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, M/M, Multi, Poly triad, Tough Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22723351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: Afterwards, they sat only marginally dressed in front of the fire, quiet and contented in the wake of their lovemaking, amongst the collection of pillows strewn in front of the hearth. Geralt was sated and sleepy, drowsing with his head in Yennefer's lap and his bare feet propped up on Jaskier’s outstretched thigh. Jaskier was gently strumming his lute, contemplating a rhyme for tumescent, when he noticed Yen watching him with the bright-eyed energy she sometimes had after they’d all enjoyed a good romp.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 28
Kudos: 495





	Motet

**Author's Note:**

> _Motet: a polyphonic composition for two or three voice parts, with each part having an independent text_

Afterwards, they sat only marginally dressed in front of the fire, quiet and contented in the wake of their lovemaking, amongst the collection of pillows strewn in front of the hearth. Geralt was sated and sleepy, drowsing with his head in Yennefer's lap and his bare feet propped up on Jaskier’s outstretched thigh. Jaskier was gently strumming his lute, contemplating a rhyme for tumescent, when he noticed Yen watching him with the bright-eyed energy she sometimes had after they’d all enjoyed a good romp.

“Julian,” she said, and Jaskier’s hand tripped over the lute strings with an unpleasant twang. “Where did you say your family seat was? Redaina, wasn’t it?”

“South of the Buina.” Jaskier tried to sound nonchalant, maybe even bored. “But I haven't been home in so long, it hardly matters.”

“Must have been wonderful to have such a comfortable upbringing,” Yennefer said. “Did you have many servants?”

“Some,” Jaskier said. “The normal amount, I suppose.” He yawned, not too theatrically, and gave Geralt a quick glance: the witcher had his eyes closed, and was leaning into Yen’s hand as she stroked his hair.

“Was it a working estate, or just one of those old drafty castles?” Yennefer asked.

“A bit of both. It was drafty, and we had a moat, so I suppose that qualifies as a castle, but we also kept livestock. Cows. Brown and white ones. My favorite was called Eunice.” Details. Unnecessary details were good; they added verisimilitude. He gently pushed Geralt’s feet off of him and set the lute in his lap to start detuning it.

“Was it to the west of Ghelibol?” Yennefer asked. “I've been through there often. It isn't the place on the hill, is it, by the ruins of that monument?”

“No, I'm afraid we are a bit further out from town.” Jaskier gave an apologetic shrug. “I would be surprised if you'd ever encountered the place in your travels.”

“But your parents must surely go to the capital, to court, at least from time to time. Maybe I’ve seen them there. What are the arms of your house?”

“Argent four bars azure, an orle of martlets gules,” Jaskier said quickly.

“And they're descended from King Marcin?” Yennefer asked

“You know,” Jaskier said, loosening the friction pegs faster. “All those begats and begots. I never was much good at memorizing family trees.”

“Yen,” Geralt muttered sleepily, but she ignored him.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Four,” Jaskier said, and hurried on before she could ask something else. “Lucasz is the eldest, and he's taken over most of the running of the family in recent years. Responsibilities of the heir and all that.”

“He's much older than you?” Yen asked

“Yes,” Jaskier said as he cranked on an uncooperative peg. “I was still in the nursery when they had him betrothed.”

“I see. Well you’re…” Yen's eyes strayed to the ceiling as she thought for a moment. “Almost 40? That must mean your brother is going on 60. And your father is still around, you say?”

“Men in our family are known for being very long-lived.” Jaskier dredged up a smile and ran a hand down his cheek with a flourish. “Look at me, youthful skin, don’t look a day over 25.” He snatched the shoulder strap of his case from the edge of the firelight and pulled it over, trying not to show his haste.

“Why have we never visited them?” Yen asked. “We've been close to there half a dozen times or more. These letters they send, they sound like lovely people. Are you trying to keep them all to yourself?”

Suspicion solidified into irritation. Jaskier snapped, “I don't see you telling us much about your family.”

“My family was shit,” Yennefer said easily. “From everything I've heard you say about your family, they’re wonderful people. Loving and kind. Almost a storybook version of a family.”

“Yen,” Geralt said again. She petted a hand over his hair, and otherwise ignored him.

“I saw you today, when we passed through that market,” Yen said. “You palmed an apple from that trader’s cart. He was practically looking right at you as you did it, and he didn’t notice. You gave it to that beggar child we passed.”

“Call the constabulary!” Jaskier said, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

“No child who grew up in a wealthy household steals that well. Hunger is a demanding teacher.”

“Ciri played with the commoners, didn't she?” Jaskier shoved his lute none too gently into its case and did up the straps with unnecessary force. “Do you think it’s impossible that offspring of lords and ladies would fraternize with children who might be hungry, perhaps learn a thing or two?” 

“I have to say that I'm impressed you crafted a fictional family that held up to such scrutiny all these years. That's an admirable level of effort for such a ruse,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier froze with the last buckle of the lute case in his hand, then forced himself back into motion, tightening it slowly. “Why would you say they're fictional?”

“Jaskier,” she said chidingly. “What does it matter?”

“Yen,” Geralt said once more, and this time he sat up, propping himself on an elbow to look at her.

“No, let him answer,” she said, and looked back at Jaskier. “I understand taking a stage name, even a persona, for your profession. But why bother to lie to us?”

“I find I'm very tired.” Jaskier pushed to his feet and slung his lute case over this shoulder. “I think I'll retire for the evening.”

At once, all the fire in the room snuffed out, leaving not a candle to see by. Jaskier could have felt his way out of the room, though it might have cost him a bruised shin or two. But he refused to sacrifice his dignity to Yennefer's pettiness. “That’s not fair,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

The fire glowed a little again in the fireplace, throwing light in a small circle. In the flickering, Jaskier could see Geralt looking back and forth between the two of them, eyes narrowed. Yen was frowning at Jaskier, and he saw lines of anger in her face, the ones that most often hid real hurt.

“Why?” she asked. “Both of us had shit childhoods, and terrible parents. Why would you think we wouldn't understand?”

“Because you don’t!” Jaskier snapped. 

“Because you haven’t said anything!” Yennefer shouted back.

“Why would I?” Jaskier’s voice had gotten louder than he’d meant it to be, and he reined it in. “You had someone who wanted you. Your parents might not have cared, but someone did. I don’t mean to say Tissaia was the warmest maternal figure, but she loves you. She wanted you, saw the potential in you. She helped make you what you are.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and Jaskier glared down at him.

“And Vesemir wanted you. He cared about you. It might have been a shit childhood, but you were worth wanting. You were special. They recognized something in both of you that deserved attention. They cared enough to shape you into someone amazing, both of you. You don't know what that means.”

“What does it mean?” Yen asked.

“It means you're worth something to someone. You're not the bastard son of an indifferent whore. You didn't have to find your own food, keep yourself safe, watch your own back, because there was no one else. No one wanted me. So is it such a crime to have imagined that someone might have? It was useful to tell potential employers. If my story was good, no one asked too many questions. One performance in a noble house begets another. And if someone thought I was highborn enough for one, there's no reason to question it. Except that the story’s not good enough for you, apparently.” Jaskier turned away from the fire and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “I would like to go to bed.” He was proud of how steady his voice sounded. “If I try to light a taper, are you just going to snuff it?”

“We want you,” Yennefer said. “Do you not know that? Have you not been paying attention?”

Jaskier sighed. “Plenty of people have wanted me like that, Yen.” He half turned back to gestured at her. “Plenty of people have wanted you, too. Look at you. It's not the same. It's not like family.”

At this, Geralt sat up and frowned at him. “What does that mean?”

“You can fuck someone and not mean to keep them,” Jaskier snapped. He felt his irritation rising. “That is self evident. Wanting someone in your bed today, doesn't mean there's a place for them in your life.”

Yen huffed out an angry breath. “I'm a little offended.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,.” Jaskier felt exhausted, suddenly, like his lute weighed a thousand pounds. It would probably feel like that when he set out on the road tomorrow, too. “Let me light a damn candle, and I’ll leave you in peace. Please.”

“Do you not…” Geralt began, and then looked between Jaskier and Yen with a bewildered expression.

“Are we not your family?” Yen asked. “Do you not want to stay and see Ciri grown? Do you not want to help me put him in his place when he is being insufferable?” she asked, inclining her chin towards Geralt. “Do you not want us for more than a fuck, after all this?”

“I'm…” Jaskier said, then stopped. His head felt light and spinny, as if he’d been knocked down in a battle.

“I'm irritated about the lies,” Yen said, “because I don't think a made up family, no matter how kind, is better than us. But you may feel differently.” All at once the candles in the room burst to life again. “That’s your right.”

Jaskier stood mutely. His attention flicked between amber eyes and violet ones, both watching him with sharp attention. He sank back onto the cushion and set down his lute case.

He unbuckled the straps and settled down to re-tune the strings. Geralt shoved his feet into Jaskier’s lap, warming them against his belly. Yen poured another cup of wine and set it next to him as he worked, getting the lute back into proper order. 

At last, Geralt asked, “What's that you were playing? It sounded awful.”

“Really,” Jaskier said, with an exaggerated sigh. “You have no taste at all.”

“I think it all hinges on the lyrics,” Yennefer said. “The tune has potential, but if it's going to be more of that bloody maudlin nonsense--”

“Just because you wouldn't know a romantic lyric if it bit you in--”

“Play it again,” Geralt interrupted. “it can't sound worse than the two of you snarling at each other.”

Jaskier settled his instrument in his arms, looked at his audience, and began again to play.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! I couldn't get a Discord discussion about the possibility that Jaskier had a very lonely and upsetting childhood out of my head, so I had to write this.


End file.
